Nine Inaugural Balls
by Dianora
Summary: General Santos administration with a Josh/Donna focus. Originally posted to the J/D Yahoo list in 2006.


I.

At the first ball the newly-minted President Santos asks for a moment of silence for Leo McGarry. As the din of merriment fades to reverent quiet, Josh feels Donna slide her fingers through his. He squeezes her hand, not looking at her. All that surrounds him is breathing, the click of a heel on tile, a smothered cough, and memory.

When the moment is over, the band launches into an exuberant rendition of "The Yellow Rose of Texas."

Josh sighs. It's going to be a long night.

II.

"Hey, have you tried this drink? They're calling it the Santos Sunrise. It's outstanding."

Donna wonders if Bram has ever consciously realized that at times he sounds like Ted on an Excellent Adventure. "What's in it?" she asks.

Bram shrugs. "Tequila, orange juice, triple sec…some other stuff. I dunno."

"I think I'll pass," Donna says gingerly, tightening her grip on her glass of Riesling.

Bram takes another slug. "Suit yourself." Then he spots someone in the crowd and his demeanor changes. His posture stiffens, he seems to grow taller, his gaze sharpens. "D-triple-C chair, eleven o'clock," he says.

Donna follows his line of sight. "Branson?"

"Yeah. I promised him two minutes with the President. It's never too early to start thinking about the midterms."

Donna checks her watch. "We're supposed to be leaving in ten minutes," she points out.

"All the time in the world," Bram says with a confident grin. "Here, hold this." He hands his drink to Donna before she can protest, squares his shoulders, and stalks off in Branson's direction.

"Great," she says to herself, staring down at the drink. She sniffs it cautiously, then recoils.

"Double-fisting?"

She turns to see Josh eyeing her largesse, his eyebrows pushing up into his forehead. "Bram saddled me with his Santos Sunrise," she explained. "Branson is here."

"Don Branson?" Josh's head whips around until he locks onto the Senator, who is currently being escorted off the dance floor by Bram. "I'd better go," he says, starting to back-step. "You look great."

"You've already said that tonight," she says.

"I know," he says, and flashes her a grin before he disappears into the teeming crowd.

Donna sighs and lifts the wrong glass to her mouth. She's swallowed a mouthful of Santos Sunrise before she even realizes her mistake. She screws up her lips, then reconsiders. She's had worse.

A few more sips, and it's downright tasty.

III.

"Oh. My. God."

"Yeah." Edie hands Lou a Corona, no lime. "You're going to need this."

"I can't believe I've had sex with that man," Lou says, gratefully accepting the cold, dewy bottle as she watches Otto shake his ass enthusiastically to Outkast.

"It was the campaign trail," Edie says consolingly. "You weren't thinking clearly."

"And it's only the third ball of the night," Lou says. "He has so much more time remaining to embarrass himself."

"Hard to believe he's going to top this, isn't it?"

Almost as if he can hear Edie's words and needs to prove her wrong, Otto drops to the dance floor and does a passable version of the Caterpillar. The crowd cheers -- and steps back a few feet.

"That's it. I quit," Lou says, and drains half her Corona without stopping.

IV.

"I feel like I should have written down which people are going to be at which party on my palm in ballpoint pen," Matt remarks as he and his wife finish greeting the Congressional representatives from Arizona.

"Didn't you once get caught trying to cheat on a chemistry test in high school using that very method?" Helen asks, slipping her arm through his.

"Don't say that too loudly," Matt cautions her with a grin. "You wouldn't believe what can get a President impeached these days."

"Mr. President," Bram says, appearing at their side. The tall young man is slightly sweaty by this point in the evening, and Matt wonders how much he's had to drink. "Mr. President," Bram repeats, "You'll be making your speech in five minutes. I have your notes if you need them."

"No need, Bram," Matt says. "I have it written in pen on my palm."

"You…what, sir?" Bram asks in confusion as Helen stifles a laugh.

"Never mind," Matt says. "Did they really name a drink at me at the second ball?"

"The Santos Sunrise," Bram says, perking up. "I tipped off the bartenders here, I think they're making them too. Would you like to try one?"

"I'll leave that to you," Matt assures him. "I wouldn't mind getting something to eat, though. I'm starving."

"I'll have them fix a plate for you when you're done speaking," Bram assures him. "Although…you may want to wait until the next ball. I hear the food is better at that one."

"Bram, at this point I don't care if it's Frito pie. Just see if you can get me something, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"You get cranky when you're hungry," Helen observed as Bram walked away. "I'll have to make sure Ronna keeps the Oval Office stocked with protein bars."

"I'd rather have Reese's Peanut Butter Cups," Matt said.

"Well, I'd rather have fit into that size 3 Vera Wang gown the stylist sent over, but we can't always get what we want."

V.

"Why don't you go join them?"

Josh looks over at Sam, who has sidled up next to him, drink in hand, then returns his gaze to the object of his attention. Donna, Otto, Ronna and Cindy are formed up in a half-circle on the dance floor, moving their bodies to a song that Josh knows is a current hit but damned if he knows what it's called or who sings it. Otto is even doing some bizarre moves that Josh could swear is a kind of breakdancing, if, you know, they weren't currently living in the 21st century. It's Donna he is focused on, anyway -- she appears to be having a great time, swaying her hips to the music and laughing at Otto's fevered gesticulations. She looks beautiful -- beautiful and vibrant. Young. He has a flash of memory suddenly, of the day they met, her hair pulled back, her expression bright and eager. He hasn't thought about that day in a long time.

"I'm too old," he says finally, and with a touch of surprise. In spite of everything, the thought is new to him.

"What?" Sam blinks rapidly in a way that reminds Josh of a small bird. "What are you talking about? I know you can't dance, so that, at least, would be a legitimate excuse, but what do you mean, you're too old?"

"It means I'm not going to go join my girlfriend and my subordinates, all of whom are at least ten years younger than me, and shake my overgrown ass to…to whatever music this is."

"It's the Black Eyed Peas, but that's not the point," Sam says with a shake of his head. "You don't think she'd want to have you out there with her, even if you dance like an uncoordinated llama?"

"Sam --"

"She loves you, Josh, for reasons I can't begin to fathom," Sam says. "Do both of yourselves a favor and don't punish Donna for your own insecurities."

Josh blows out a breath and looks back at her. She turns her head just then, catches his gaze. When she sees him, she smiles widely and gestures for him to come join her.

He shakes his head, gives her an apologetic smile.

Her responding crestfallen expression burns itself into his brain before she looks away.

"Yep," Sam says, slapping him on the back. "You're an idiot." He walks away, leaving Josh standing there, alone.

VI.

Lou sees Annabeth standing in a corner by herself and can't decide if she should approach the tiny blonde or not. Annabeth looks melancholy and perhaps as if she could use some company, but that would mean Lou would have to, you know, be nice. It's a tough call.

Then again, she just did a shot of Jim Beam with the governor of Kentucky, and it would be a shame to waste the liquid courage. Done, then. She throws back her shoulders, puts her head down and charges over to Annabeth.

"Hey," she says tersely.

Annabeth gives her a small smile. The dress she is wearing is very pink. "Hi there. Having a good time?"

"Sure." Lou flexes her fingers; she never knows what to do with her hands in situations like this. "What about you?"

"I'm having a great time," Annabeth says. She pauses. "I know it doesn't look that way right now."

Lou shakes her head. "Hey, far be it for me of all people to be the fun police."

Annabeth smiles more widely this time. "I was just thinking about Leo," she admits. "He would have had such a wonderful time tonight. I can see him," and she holds up her hand and looks upward for a moment, "I can see him in my mind's eye, wearing a tuxedo purchased especially for the occasion and not letting anyone pay him a compliment all night long."

"That sounds about right," Lou says. "Listen, did you…want to get out of here? I can have someone call you a cab, or --"

"No," Annabeth says, with a ladylike shake of her head. "I'm fine, really. Just having a moment."

"Okay." Lou jerks her thumb toward the maddening crowd. "I should get back to it. I hear the governor of Tennessee is looking for me with a bottle of Jack Daniels in hand, so…"

"Go," Annabeth says. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Lou repeats. "I'll, ah, see you later." She loses herself in the crowd again, buffeted by bulk and noise and heat.

VII.

Bram is drunk.

Helen knows this because Bram has just told her she looks "hot" in her aubergine Valentino gown, which costs more than Matt used to make in a year as the mayor of Houston.

To his credit, Bram seems to realize immediately what he has done. At least, she's assuming that's why he's hyperventilating and sputtering.

"Oh my god," Bram is panting, "Oh my god, Mrs. Santos, I am so -- I mean, the president is -- oh my god, please don't tell the president I said that -- I've had too many Santos Sunrises and --"

"It's okay, Bram. I have to admit, though, it's been a while since anyone other than my husband told me I was hot," she says dryly. "I don't quite remember how to respond."

"Oh my god." He runs his hand through his hair. "I'm going to -- I have to -- that is -- bye." He turns tail and runs.

"Smart move," Helen says to his back. She turns her head to see Donna approaching. "You just missed an extremely embarrassing, yet mildly amusing, moment," Helen tells her.

Donna watches Bram's retreating form. "Did Bram just tell you that you look hot?" she asks.

Helen's jaw drops. "Yes. How did you --"

"He told me the same thing at ball number five."

"Really." Helen takes in Donna's gunmetal satin gown -- Nicole Miller, she thinks -- and tugs at the Valentino, which suddenly feels tight around her hips. "I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed."

"It's probably best to forget it all together," Donna says. "That's what I've been doing. Or trying to, anyway."

"Sounds like a plan," Helen says. She scans the crowd for Matt's tall frame, but doesn't spot him, not that it's easy to see much of anything distinctive in the roiling sea of black and white. "Do you know where my husband is?"

"He and Josh are with the Congressional leadership," Donna says. She offers Helen an apologetic smile. "Everyone needs to get their five minutes tonight. Or in the case of the leadership, fifteen."

"So I've learned."

There's a pause, and the two women share an uncertain glance. Helen still feels a little weird that her Chief of Staff and her husband's Chief of Staff are a couple, and she suspects Donna does too. Not for the first time she wonders if she would have offered Donna the position, had she known about those unusual circumstances. Still, she should be polite. "Have you and Josh had much time together tonight?" she ventures, hoping she doesn't sound too forced.

The corners of Donna's mouth twitch, and she casts her gaze into the crowd. "A little. Not much. It's a busy night for him."

"He's not the only one," Helen says, feeling her own mouth tightening.

"The Bakers are going to be at the next ball," Donna says briskly. "You and Mrs. Baker should find some time to talk. If Baker is confirmed the two of you might be seeing a lot of each other."

"I've met her before. We'll be fine," Helen says.

Donna nods acquiescently. "Okay. Do you need anything?"

"You don't have a pair of slippers on you, do you? These heels are killing me."

Donna grins. "Sorry. If you don't need me, I think I'm going to try to find Bram and make sure he's not telling the Russian ambassador that she looks hot in her dress."

"That's probably a good idea," Helen says.

The new First Lady is alone for only a moment before a Congresswoman whose name Helen can't remember approaches her. Helen puts on her best convivial smile and wonders if she can summon her husband to her side through sheer will power.

VIII.

"How is it possible that we're on our eighth ball and I'm only just now getting to dance with you?" Josh wonders aloud. He and Donna are slow dancing to some sappy ballad. He doesn't recognize the tune, but the dance tempo is definitely more his speed. This, he can do.

"You're a busy man," Donna says lightly.

"Still." He has been busy, running ragged in a way that already has him wondering how Leo managed it. _By letting everything else in his life go to hell_, he thinks, and pushes the thought away.

"Have you seen Bram?" Donna asks. "He kind of made a fool of himself with the First Lady earlier."

"I heard." He tightens his grip on her, the satin of her gown slippery beneath his fingers. "I heard he did the same with you."

"He's drunk," Donna says, managing to form a shrug even though she's holding on to him. "I got him to lay off the Santos Sunrises and stick with coffee for the rest of the night."

"Well, I look forward to giving him a hard time in the morning," Josh says.

"Everyone does."

He lets out a breath and it stirs wisps of Donna's hair. "By the way, have I told you that you look great tonight?" he asks.

She gives him one of those slow smiles that make his heart fillip. "Yes."

"Good."

She looks away, vaguely embarrassed, and changes the subject. "So, I realized that tomorrow is our first full day of work," Donna says, "since today didn't really count."

"That's true," he says. She runs her hand over his shoulder, and he has to struggle for a moment to focus. "But seeing as how we're going to be out into the wee hours, I figure I'll let everyone come in late tomorrow. Say, 9 AM."

"That's awfully big of you," Donna says, deadpan.

"I know," Josh says with a sniff.

"Luckily, my boss has already told me to come in at 10 tomorrow," Donna informs him.

"Well, your boss is a nicer person than I am."

"This is true."

"So does that mean we're not going to go in together tomorrow morning?" And wow, did that sound pathetic. _Good job, Lyman_.

She looks taken aback for a moment, then her lips part and she leans in closer. "Well, seeing as how I'll be able to stay in bed later than you, maybe there's something I can do for you, you know, before you have to leave."

His own lips feel dry. He digs his fingers into her hip. "That might be nice," he says, straining to keep his voice from going falsetto.

She raises her eyebrows. "Might?" Her head tilts up; her eyelids lower. It's too much. He closes the gap and kisses her, her tongue sliding against his, her hand reaching up to grasp the hair at the nape of his neck.

When they part they are both breathless. "How many more of these things do we have to go to tonight?" he rasps.

"Just one," she says.

"Thank God."

IX.

A grouping of senior staff -- Josh, Lou, Bram, Donna, Sam, Ronna -- linger in front of the bar closest to the door, waiting for the President and First Lady to discharge their last obligation of the night. Otto is off somewhere getting in one last breakdance, and Annabeth has already fled for the privacy of home.

Bram is drinking water and making periodic moaning noises, his tie askew and his hair mussed. Lou looks him up and down and says, "Hey, anybody tell you how hot you look tonight?" Bram groans and glares and goes back to nursing his water.

Lou grins in satisfaction and turns her attention to Josh. "Did Messinger corner you about the telecommunications bill?"

Josh nods. "Yeah. Sam's gonna take care of it in the morning."

"Good."

"I'm...standing right here, by the way," Sam offers, holding up his hand.

"Did you lose your fiancée?" Lou asks him.

"She's in the ladies room," Sam explains. "I'm guessing there was a line."

"That or she's avoiding him," Josh says to Lou.

"Again -- right here," Sam says.

"Poor Sam," Donna murmurs.

"It's not easy being me," Sam agrees.

A conversational lull falls as the band strikes up a melancholy-sounding tune, something appropriate to the end of an evening.

Donna feels Josh slip his fingers through hers and she briefly leans her cheek against his shoulder before straightening up again. Donna wonders if Josh knows that she's spent a substantial part of the evening thinking about what it will be like when he takes her Nicole Miller gown off of her later. She wonders if he's been thinking the same thing.

Ronna notices Josh and Donna holding hands and suppresses a sigh, regretting, at least for the moment, that she told Cindy to go back to her own place tonight, because Ronna is terrified about work tomorrow and doesn't need the distraction. She runs through everyone's phone extension once more in her head, determined to have them memorized by morning.

Lou scans the dance floor until she spots Otto. He is attempting a moonwalk, and Lou decides in that moment that she doesn't need to get laid _that_ badly.

Bram wonders if the president will challenge him to a duel in the morning to defend his wife's honor. God only knows how they resolve things in Texas.

Sam hopes that there was really just a long line for the ladies' room.

Josh's thoughts jump from beat to beat, from strategizing what step to take tomorrow on education to hoping Sam is up to the challenge of dealing with Messinger to wondering what noises Donna will make when he slips that slinky gown off of her later tonight. Mostly, though, he thinks about the team he has put together, here, and whether he'll be able to lead them. Whether he'll be able to do even half the job that Leo did.

In spite of the ebullient atmosphere, there are ghosts in this room, tonight.

"What are you thinking about?" Donna says quietly.

He turns and looks at her, tries to smile. "Just…stuff."

"How eloquent," she says, nudging him with her hip.

"Thanks." He disengages his fingers from hers so he can slide his hand up her back, bringing it to rest on the bare skin above the edge of her gown. "The President should be back any minute. I don't expect this to take that long."

"I'm fine," Donna says. "Although I can't wait to get out of these shoes." She shifts uncomfortably.

"That's not all I can't wait for you to get out of," Josh whispers, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She flashes a toothy grin and leans back into his touch.

"Looks like the gang's all here," comes Santos' voice, as he and the First Lady break up the formation of the group.

"Good evening, Mr. President," they all say, more or less in unison. Josh notices that Bram takes a few steps back, trying to make himself inconspicuous.

"Did everyone have a good time tonight?" Santos asks. "Good," he says as they all nod. "Because we have a lot to do tomorrow."

Josh steps forward. "The motorcade's ready, Mr. President."

"Thanks, Josh. Could you come in the car with me and Helen? I need to talk to you about something. Donna can come along, of course," he adds, seeing Josh look back at her. "We'll have the limo bring you back to your car."

Donna gives him a nod. "Of course, Mr. President," Josh says, falling in behind his boss, Donna stepping in beside him.

"Bram, I'll see you in the morning," Santos says with a wag of his finger as they head in the direction of the exit. Bram moans again, quietly.

Josh and Donna have to stop at the coat check on their way out, and as they wait for the clerk to bring them their things, Donna lets out a wistful-sounding sigh. "It was a lovely evening," she says.

"Yeah." Josh leans against the counter. "Hey, it wasn't our first inaugural ball, and I'm hoping it won't be our last," he says cockily. He always feels slightly more confident in a tuxedo.

Donna ducks her head, taps a fingernail against the wood of the counter. "Do you ever feel as if this type of work is nothing so much as a constant series of endings?"

He straightens up, surprised by the question. "Not really," he says. "I mean, in a way, sure. But it's the beginnings that matter. The beginnings are about opportunity, a new chance to do something good, something important. And that's what we want, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," she says. She shakes her head, looking frustrated with herself. "I'm being melancholy all of a sudden, which is annoying." She raises her chin. "I'll stop now."

The clerk arrives with their coats, and Josh grins as he gathers his up and rummages in his pocket for a tip. "You're not annoying. I mean, you're annoying sometimes, but not right this minute."

"Thanks," Donna says with a roll of her eyes. She puts on her own coat, shakes out her hair over the collar. "Don't we have a president to go meet or something?"

"Yeah," Josh says, putting his hand at the small of her back and ushering her toward the door. "Let's wrap this night up. You said it yourself, earlier -- we have a new beginning tomorrow."

Her answering smile is a beginning in itself.

End.


End file.
